


Closing the Distance

by StarShadow4



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarShadow4/pseuds/StarShadow4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She had always sworn to herself that what he wanted, what they both wanted, could not exist on Voyager, but it was getting harder to remember that."</p><p>Over a few days of downtime, Janeway and Chakotay complete the long, slow slide into each other that began so many years ago. JC. Set in Season 4; follows my Scorpion tag, "Incunabula."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multi-chapter "getting together" story. It marginally follows 4x15, Hunters.

**Closing the Distance: Chapter 1  
**

Kathryn Janeway had long suspected the collusion, but today her worst fears had been confirmed: the sonic shower was in league with the replicator, and they were both holding a grudge. Sprawled on the floor of her bathroom with the wiring panel open and a laser solder in her hand, she regretted again her unkind comments about the replicator when she was first being shown her quarters—fresh off two months' leave and her mother's home cooking, she hadn't found the ornery little matter-energy converter particularly impressive, but if she'd known they were going to be stuck together for four years already, she would have tried to be a little more polite. The shower hadn't really given her any trouble until the last couple months, which had been so chaotic that her bathtub had gone all but unused, and apparently the shower had taken exception to her grumbling about it while she rushed through her pre-shift routine. This morning was supposed to have been a relaxing one, but her appliances had taken care of that: all she'd wanted was a cup of coffee, but every command she gave the replicator was met with an earsplitting whistle from the direction of the bathroom as the sonic shower outputs achieved nearly supersonic range. Completely rewiring the entire unit might have been a little extreme, but in her defense, she hadn't had her coffee yet.

Kathryn brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist and lurched up, twisting to reach the spanner. Circuits reintegrated, she held her breath, dreading the return of the hair-raising hum; after a few moments of tenuous silence, she slumped back against the wall, dragging her hands through her unkempt hair. She was too aggravated now to bother with a slow bath, but under no circumstances was she risking the shower so soon—she'd be bathing out of the sink this morning, something she hadn't done since her days pulling all-nighters at the Academy library and running to class in yesterday's uniform. At least this time she had nowhere to be.

If the last six months of their journey through the unknown reaches of the Delta Quadrant had been a sea at storm, the last two weeks had brought a sudden, unexpected calm. Their last stop for fuel, supplies, and directions had revealed that the dominant species in this region, the Hanhari, were on the eve of a millennial holiday they called the Parade of the Immortals, a month-long reprieve from all industry and space travel during which the citizens of the Hanhari worlds dedicated themselves to the contemplation of the Class F reflection nebula visible from their solar system. The nebula had presented as mundane to _Voyager's_ scans, little more than an ethereal blue-green fog cradling juvenile stars, but apparently that was all about to change—according to the trader who'd been willing to replenish their dilithium for slightly more than a fair price, the souls of all those who had died in the last thousand years would soon pass through the nebula, bearing their funeral candles and setting the sky aflame.

Kathryn had a feeling there was a more scientific explanation for whatever was about to happen, but she had been sufficiently intrigued to authorize a detour. The Hanhari had given permission for _Voyager_ to observe the phenomenon from close in, and Tom had parked them at a safe distance—and apparently that had been her miscalculation, because at a safe distance there was very little for them to do, and that had given her tactical officer ideas. Kathryn dipped her hands into the sink and scooped the water over her bowed head, gasping as the cold droplets ran into her sensitive ears.

Tuvok had approached her before about letting junior officers train on the bridge and in Engineering, about the eventual necessity of having personnel qualified to replace the senior staff, but between malfunctions, hostile encounters, and internal disasters, it had never seemed like the right time. Once they took up position outside the nebula, she no longer had that excuse. A few days out of the big chair should have been a relief after four years navigating near-constant peril, but Kathryn was finding it more unsettling than anything; she jumped at every noise, every unfamiliar shiver that ran through the ship, and if B'Elanna's voice over the comm was any indication, her chief engineer was out of patience with the captain calling "just to check in" on the junior engineering staff. She'd chanced a trip up to the bridge the day before to watch her crew in action, but Tuvok had seen that it was a very short visit, barely escorting her once around the bridge before she was back in the turbolift with her head spinning. All in all, she was getting the distinct impression that she was regarded as a nuisance on her own ship, and that made her incredibly restless. B'Elanna likely would have jumped at the chance for her up-and-coming engineers to do something non-critical, like fixing the captain's shower, but the fact was, she simply needed something to do. Being off duty gave her far too much time to think.

Having tamed the whorls of her hair as well as she could with only her wet fingers, Kathryn stepped back into her bedroom and dressed automatically, only realizing when she reached the jacket that she could have gone without her uniform. She sank into a chair with the jacket in one hand and her pips in the other, carefully ignoring the PADD balanced on the precarious curve of the armrest. Professor Somak had once walked in on her washing her hair in the library sink the day of her temporal mechanics final, but that wasn't why the strict Vulcan who taught Moral and Ethical Issues of Command had been on her reading list this morning. Kathryn liked to imagine that if her replicator hadn't instigated a mutiny she might have faced what was on that PADD by now, but the truth was she'd spent the past two days trying to get past the first sentence.

_Always maintain emotional distance between yourself and those under your command._

It was Somak's guiding principle, the one with which she began every class, and Kathryn Janeway had done everything in her power to uphold it, but the last few days, staring at those stark words made something inside of her balk. What she couldn't decide was which part of her was recoiling from Somak's treatise: the part that worried she was closer to the line than she should be, or the part that feared Somak would talk her out of leaping right over it.

It was Chakotay. It was always Chakotay. She glanced at the far wall as if just thinking of him might be enough to bring him running from his quarters next door, then shook herself and stood to pull on her uniform jacket. She fixed the pips to her collar one by one, pressing hard against the cool metal as if she could force herself to remember the weight of command with that fading brand. But in spite of herself, that wasn't what she was remembering: she was remembering the feel of his fingertips raking over hers as he took her fork in the mess hall the night before, rescuing her from the last of whatever Neelix had concocted that was nothing like boysenberry pie. Kathryn closed her eyes and leaned back against the support column between her windows.

The last few days, since she'd been sentenced to endless time to think, her mind kept returning to a puzzle her father had given her when she was young: Zeno's paradox of the tortoise and Achilles, the fable in which Achilles, racing the tortoise, covers half the distance to his opponent each time, and thus never catches up. For so long now, she had imagined that her relationship with Chakotay followed the same rules: no matter how close they got, the final step was impossible, a distance between them that could never be closed. But something had changed the night she lay beside him and stared into his shadowed face with his warm body wrapped around her. Every day he stood a little closer and she smiled a little longer when she met his eyes. Every day she was confronted with the realities of physics: that motion was in fact possible, and so Achilles' victory was not only feasible but in fact inevitable, and that meant she and Chakotay _were_ moving toward something, one inexorable inch at a time.

She had always sworn to herself that what he wanted, what they both wanted, could not exist on _Voyager_ , but it was hard to remember that standing too close to him in the doorway of her quarters the evening before, wondering for one terrifying moment if he was going to kiss her goodnight. He hadn't, of course he hadn't, would never have crossed that line without her permission—but she had felt a tingling in the soles of her feet, an almost overwhelming urge to push up on her tiptoes, and that scared her more than the Borg and the Hirogen put together. The adrenaline had left her shaky for hours afterward, until she finally tumbled into bed to grapple with restless dreams.

He was inside of her now, and she didn't know how to get him out. But what was worse, she wasn't sure she wanted to. She couldn't regret staying with him that night, letting him wrap his arms around her, because it was what they'd needed to piece themselves back together, and she had known going in that she wouldn't let it go too far—but what she hadn't realized was how that one brush with comfort and security would haunt her, that she would lie awake longing for the warmth of him next to her, the weight of his fingers in her hair, the soft rustle of his breathing breaking the silence of the fleeting stars. She'd always dreamed of that, somewhat. But it was worse now. Now she knew what she was missing.

And that was what left her stalled on Somak's doorstep, her conscience too torn to dive in. She knew all the arguments in favor of distance in command, and remembered the treatise well enough to know there was no convenient allowance for starship captains stranded at the far end of the galaxy with their implausibly attentive and available first officers. But she also knew that if she picked up that PADD and finally read past the ominous first sentence, there was every chance that the stiff dictates of protocol would ring so hollow, out here in the undiscovered country, that she'd be knocking on his door ten minutes later.

Apparently he'd beaten her to it.

Kathryn jumped as the chime rang out, automatically tugging imaginary wrinkles out of her jacket. They didn't have a standing engagement, but that didn't matter—there was only one person who ever came calling this early. She crossed the room in her light blue socks, worrying her still damp hair. Logically, she knew he wouldn't be able to hear her most private thoughts just by stepping into the room, but the suddenness of his arrival made her anxious all the same, and her stomach twisted as she pressed the button to open the door. Her nerves evaporated in the face of his smile, replaced by a warm feeling she didn't want to think about standing this close to him.

"Captain."

In spite of herself, she couldn't suppress a smile, resisting the urge to brush his shoulder as she motioned him inside. "Not this week. Don't remind me, Chakotay." She was glad to see he was in his uniform, too; it saved her worrying about whether to change. She waved an idle hand at the replicator. "I'd offer you something, but I'm afraid we're having an uprising this morning."

Chakotay's eyes slid past the console to settle on the jumble of tools she'd forgotten on the bathroom floor. "So that's what the commotion was about."

Kathryn froze, chagrined. "You heard that?"

"Just the banging. Not the cursing that doubtless came with it." He tried to keep a straight face, but the smile was already winning, tugging at his dimples until she had to look away. "I'm glad that's what you were up to. I was worried the cabin fever had finally gotten the better of you and I'd come over to find you'd trashed the place."

Kathryn leaned back against one of her dining room chairs, absently massaging her temples. "I'll admit, I've never been closer to it. I'm all for a vacation, Chakotay—I just wish I had somewhere to go. I tried to visit the bridge yesterday, just as an observer, and Tuvok all but had me marched out by Security." Chakotay raised an eyebrow, asking without words what she'd done to provoke this reaction from their unfailingly logical tactical officer, and as she always did she found herself giving in, relaxing into the glow of his attention and the humor in his dark eyes. "I made the mistake of telling Ensign Parsons he was doing fine. Tuvok accused me of undermining his authority."

Chakotay took a step forward, leaned his hip against the table beside her. "You weren't undermining him, were you?" he asked seriously.

Kathryn couldn't help her laugh. "Maybe, just a little." She watched him laugh along with her and wondered when they'd gotten so close again, practically shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes the way they moved together reminded her of the thesis proposal of her freshman roommate, a haggard, antisocial Ankaran girl who'd been determined to prove all physical attraction was just the result of magnetics, atoms reversing current until their needles aligned, hearts spinning without will like riders on a carousel. She remained skeptical of the science, but she thought she understood, finally, where D'Nayun had gotten her ideas.

She had been staring at him too long. Her gaze jerked suddenly to her feet, feeling strangely vulnerable without her shoes. If he noticed the stiffening of her spine, he didn't comment, only shifted against the table and took up the conversation in that same calm voice.

"I know what you mean. I tried to lend a hand in Engineering yesterday, but B'Elanna threw me out. Said the last thing she needed with so many incompetents underfoot was me blundering around, making a mess of things and scaring the junior officers."

Kathryn shook her head. "Is it just me, or have we been thoroughly replaced?"

"At least it's only temporary," Chakotay offered, though he couldn't stop himself from adding, "for now."

"Don't start," she warned, surprised to find her hand had risen of its own accord to settle against his shoulder. Maybe she could find a way to pin this on magnetics after all. She thought about pulling back, but she didn't want to make a fuss over such a small thing, not when she had much bigger things to fuss about. "If this whole debacle hadn't been proposed by my senior Vulcan officer, I'd suspect a mutiny in progress," she said, surprised by the amused huff that escaped his lips. Kathryn crooked an eyebrow. "Do you know something I don't, Commander?"

"No," he promised, though there was still something thoughtful in his face, like he was weighing his next words. "But…it has been a long couple months. Seems like it might be nice not to be at the helm for a few days."

"That's what I thought, right up until it was actually happening! I haven't had a chance to be bored in three and a half years, Chakotay—I don't know what to do with myself."

She pushed his shoulder as she said the last, and as they swayed back into each other she wondered how such a gentle collision could send a shockwave right through her, how he made it so easy for her to be this person: someone who could tease him back, laugh without reservation, hover there against him for the long moments when they both pretended it was incidental—someone who could give, who could let him be the wheel that turned her. Someone who was enthralled by him. She had never expected to be that person out here, among the nameless stars.

He was looking at her in that quiet way he had, like he could see all her thoughts racing across her face. She hoped that was just paranoia on her part.

"Well," he said at last, pushing away from the table, "I suggest you start small. Join me for breakfast? A real breakfast," he added before she could say anything, "not a cup of coffee as you're rushing out the door."

Kathryn wasn't sure why she had to catch her breath just to answer him. "That sounds lovely," she said, and watched his face light up, surprised again how happy just saying yes made him. She couldn't remember anyone else ever being so thrilled by her company. It made her want to oblige him all the time, as impossible as she knew that to be. But maybe, for just a few days here, she could hesitate before saying no. Maybe she owed it to herself to peer down the road he was offering to walk with her before she and Somak slammed the door. Even if nothing could come of it, she couldn't silence the part of her that begged for the chance to lie next to him just one more time. She could find sanctuary in that.

Chakotay held out his arm, and without thinking Kathryn looped hers through it, smiling because he was. She didn't realize until they stepped into the corridor that she was still in her socks.

* * *

_All the replicators on Deck 7 had been acting up that morning. It would have been no trouble for Samantha—she had never been a picky eater—but recently she couldn't say the same of her daughter, and that meant a quick trip to the mess hall before Naomi woke up. Neelix had been so understanding, as he always was, and agreed to whip up a stack of banana pancakes for the two of them, one of his new favorite recipes. They didn't taste exactly like pancakes as Samantha remembered them, but they were good in their own way. She thought it might have been all the love that went into them._

_As she stood at the counter, listening to Neelix hum over a blackened skillet, she let her eyes flit absently around the room until they settled on two figures in command red framed against the stars of the far window. Samantha smiled. She hadn't seen much of the captain the last few days, busy running the science station on the bridge and watching some of the younger officers struggle through tactical procedures. She was glad to see the two of them spending their time off together. It was none of her business, but she'd worried a little what the single-minded Captain Janeway would do with six days to herself._

_Commander Chakotay said something and the captain laughed, and through the gap between their shoulders Samantha watched his hand inch toward hers across the table, just close enough for their fingertips to brush. Samantha's smile turned a little sad. Watching them made her miss her husband, who was such a kind man and would have been so delighted to be a father, and made her wonder too what it was about the Delta Quadrant that made people feel they had to be so alone. She had watched this dance between them a hundred times, knew exactly the point at which the captain would pull back and leave him hanging._

_Only this time she didn't. Samantha blinked a few times as the commander's large hand slid over Captain Janeway's and then stayed there, cupping the ridge of her knuckles. The captain was turned away from her, but Samantha could tell she was smiling by the relaxed line of her shoulders against the back of the chair, the small, throaty laugh she caught through the din of the mess hall. Samantha felt herself relaxing, too. When she turned back to accept two plates of pancakes from Neelix, generously topped with bananas and caramel nectar, she shot him a wink, though his expression told her he hadn't seen what she had. Then she headed for the mess hall doors, sneaking one more glance over her shoulder and wondering, for the first time since their journey began, if even in the Delta Quadrant love had a way of getting its way._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

Chakotay had always found night captivating. It was one of the things that had drawn him away from the steady ground on which his fathers had found their footing—in space, it was always night, the illusion of the rhythms of day extinguished by simply turning out the lights. He liked the view when the ship was at warp, the slow roll of the universe past the window, the stars streaked like lines of rain across the glass. For the last two days, the view had been even better: the glowing cascade of the nebula filled the entire starport, massive and ethereal, the sea-green filaments of cosmic spillover sown through with the shimmer of adolescent stars. It had been hard to imagine, lying in his bed the night before staring up into the cerulean shear, that there could be any more beautiful way to see it. But that was before he found himself relaxing into the crook of Kathryn Janeway's couch with the lights out and her curled knee just brushing his, the sprawl of pale green and protostars picking out the red highlights in her hair. He hadn't expected to be able to see her in this light.

Kathryn shifted against the backrest, and Chakotay watched with a small smile as she tipped her head and peered surreptitiously into the glass flute in her hand, checking for one more sip of Antarian cider. He had seen her do the same thing with her cups of coffee—and his, when she was desperate. There was more cider in the bottle they'd left on the table after dinner, but she seemed no more interested in moving than he was, overcome by the comfortable lethargy that had settled over them after they retreated to the couch and their voices grew gradually softer, just enough to reach each other over the background hum of _Voyager_ 's heart beating. He liked what the reflection of the nebula did to her eyes, igniting her blue irises in a way that made her seem a little otherworldly herself. Chakotay had lost the thread of what she was saying, some story from her Academy days, but he didn't try too hard to catch it again; he was content for the moment just to listen to the murmur of her voice, to study the laugh lines lurking at the corners of her lips. He hadn't heard her laugh so much in a long time.

From the moment he'd stepped through the door of her quarters that morning, something had been a little different between them. He couldn't put his finger on what it was—some flash of emotion he caught crossing her face once or twice while they shared scones in the mess hall, the handful of moments when their eyes met and she didn't look away. He had expected her to demure after breakfast, always careful not to let him walk too close to the line—but to his surprise she'd accepted his offer to catch up on a little paperwork together, and then his offer of a game of tennis on the Holodeck, and then his offer of dinner. And then he hadn't left, and she hadn't asked him to. It was far from the first time they had stayed up talking into the small watches of the night, getting lost in the easy way they fit together, when she let them. But whatever difference he had noted at breakfast was still with her, her voice a little more hushed than he was used to, her laugh a little breathless like it kept surprising her. He could feel it in himself now, too, this shortness of breath, a tightness under his ribs whenever her restless hands grazed his, marooned on his thigh. Perhaps they'd just overindulged a little where the cider was concerned.

As if in defiance of his thoughts, Kathryn leaned forward and plucked his glass from the edge of the coffee table, tipping the last swallow of amber cider back into her mouth. Chakotay chuckled under his breath. Apparently it wasn't just his coffee she was after. She sat back with a teasing smile, one eyebrow raised as if she expected him to challenge her, but all he said was, "Need a refill?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Please—save me from myself. Any more and I'll be utterly useless tomorrow."

"Well, we can't have that." He took the glass back and set it carefully on the floor, out of the way where they wouldn't have to worry about kicking it. When he settled back into the couch, he could swear they were closer than before, the slant of her thigh resting against his—but she didn't say anything about it, so he didn't either, never one to question how much she was willing to give on this point. He cleared his throat to distract himself from the heat settling above his knee, the way her touch made his nerves spark. "You shouldn't feel you have to cut yourself off. It isn't as if either of us has a full plate tomorrow."

"Oh, no." She leaned into the couch with one finger raised, her expression somewhere between playful and determined. "I have a busy day tomorrow. I'm going down to the Astrometrics lab to immerse myself in the particulars of this nebula."

"That's if they'll let you in," he joked, and then lost control of his smile as she reached out and pushed his shoulder.

"This is still my ship, at least as far as anyone's informed me. If I can't be at my post, I can at least satisfy my scientific curiosity." She drew her second knee up onto the couch, bent toward him in an attitude he recognized as the scientist in her taking over: her eyes shining, her hands alive in the air between them. "Think about it, Chakotay. Seven tells me there's a fold of unusually dense stellar matter in the center of the nebula, and at eight distinct points along that fold, stellar matter is accreting at a rate 15,000% higher than normal. She thinks they're going to become mature protostars in less than two days." She waved her hand a little, as if brushing the idea away. "Far be it from me to doubt Borg ingenuity, but…we're talking about a complete shift in the type of nebula we're dealing with, from reflection to emission—all in a matter of days. Not to mention, the Hanhari claim this happens every thousand years, almost to the day. I don't know about you, but I can't think of too many spatial phenomena that operate on such a short timeframe, cosmically speaking."

Chakotay shrugged. "Maybe. But then again, it took all the matter in the universe, what, three minutes to form? Compared to that, a thousand years is an eternity."

She looked surprised for a moment, then sank back into the couch with her cheek braced on her hand, a slow smile curving her lips. "I guess someone's been paying attention at Seven's history of space-time presentations."

He couldn't help his chuckle. "Not really. I've just been having dinner with a quantum physics enthusiast every week for four years. I was bound to learn something."

It was the length of time that had caught her off guard, he could tell—her mouth parted on a breath and then held that way, just open, as she met his level gaze, the haunted light leaving blue ghosts in her eyes. The years passed more quickly now than when he'd been a young man, but it was still a long time to have spent side by side—on the bridge, at the table, on the couch in her darkened quarters, unraveling the secrets of the stars. It was a long time to have been in love with her. She was studying him in silence, one hand carding absently through her short hair, and for a moment he allowed himself to remember the feel of that hair between his fingers, the way it tickled his palm as he tucked it carefully over the curve of her shoulder—then he quietly put the sensation away, because it was a private memory, one she hadn't meant for him to have, and he tried not to take advantage of it. He followed her hand as it dropped back to her lap and then settled, a little hesitantly, over the arc of his knee.

"I hope that's been more interesting than it sounds." Her tone was light, but her eyes gave the game away, the question she was really asking. Chakotay smiled.

"Much."

She smiled in return, squeezed his knee with soft fingers. He expected her to draw her hand back, reassured; but it seemed she was determined to surprise him tonight, and she stayed where she was, inscribing tiny circles in his leg with the tip of one finger. He didn't question it. All that he was had been given to her long ago—if the skeptic in her needed to discover that little by little, one inch at a time, well, he could wait. He had sworn to himself that he would never push her on this, but that didn't stop him from shifting his hand over hers, massaging his thumb across the bones of her wrist and noticing for the first time the little constellation of freckles that marked her there. He caught the quirk of a smile on her lips as she turned her face back to the stars.

They were quiet for a long moment, long enough to realize it wasn't just the two of them who had softened into the darkness. Kathryn ran a thoughtful hand along the sill of the viewport. " _Voyager_ seems to have quieted down," she murmured, arching an eyebrow. "There haven't been any power surges or minor malfunctions in a few hours. Things must be going better down in Engineering."

Chakotay shook his head, remembering how the door to the turbolift had snapped open and closed alarmingly during their trip to the mess hall. "Gamma shift should be on by now. I think Tuvok's advancement candidates are all in bed, dreaming of the minor malfunctions they'll cause tomorrow."

Kathryn blinked. "Gamma shift? Already?" She craned her head toward the chronometer on the wall beside the replicator, the small yellow numbers blinking _00:18_. Then she slumped back into the couch, surprised or slightly embarrassed, he couldn't tell from the laugh buried in her exhale. "I'm sorry, Chakotay. I completely lost track of time."

"It's all right," he told her. "I don't have anywhere to be." There was another memory in the room with them now—the hazy image of her arms wrapped around her knees as they sat shoulder to shoulder, staring out into an unfamiliar night whirring with unseen insect wings. Chakotay took a slow breath and felt it falter in his lungs. "Reminds me of…" He hesitated over the name, the ghost he was never sure about invoking, and she beat him to it.

"New Earth?"

She was smiling, just—he could sense that through the dark, and her face was serene in the nebula's pale glow, her eyes a hypnotizing shade of blue. Chakotay felt himself relax again into the warmth of her hand.

"The first few nights, when you couldn't sleep. You said it was too quiet." He smiled privately, remembering the rustle of crickets and leaves in strange trees that had kept him from his own dreams. The way they'd found each other at the door, her hand tensed on the knob, both of them hushing their footsteps for no one. He had caught her in her retreat, a soft hand around her wrist stopping her from putting an end to something that hadn't begun yet. Chakotay brushed his hand over Kathryn's, studying the slope of the carpal bones, the little nubs and furrows that held her together at this point. He wondered if she could hear his smile when he spoke. "We stayed up talking until dawn. You could barely pry yourself out of bed the next day."

Kathryn shook her head, giving his knee another squeeze. "Coffee, Chakotay. It's the only thing worth getting up for. It took you a few days too long to understand that." But her voice softened almost before she'd finished teasing him, her focus elsewhere. "You were such a wonderful storyteller. I knew archaeology had been a passion of yours, but I had no idea you were such a fount of mythology. Listening to you made me feel giddy…like I was on my first away mission all over again." She laughed and he couldn't help joining her, though that wasn't exactly the impression those nights had left on him. Kathryn sighed and slumped back into the couch, turning her hand over under his so she could knit their fingers together. "But more than anything, you made me feel much less alone. I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

"You didn't have to," he said, a tightness in his throat holding the words almost at a whisper.

There was something alive inside the cage of his ribs, something that thrummed in his bones as she traced the curve of the space between his thumb and forefinger. In the silence that followed those four words he waited for the recoil, the moment when she would pull herself back from the precipice of this. But whatever had been open in her that day was still guiding her, and when he looked into her face he saw not distance but shy curiosity, the willingness, for once, to let this be a conversation and not a slamming door.

"Do you ever think about…" she started, and then faltered, her free hand flickering toward the window as if to indicate the nebula, the universe, the star so far from here that they had orbited for such a short span. "Our time there?" she finished at last, as her grip unconsciously tightened on his hand. He wondered if she were remembering it too, the feel of their palms pressed together for the first time, or if it was just nerves.

"Sometimes," he answered, watching her carefully. "Sometimes I used to imagine finishing your boat, what we might have found farther up the river. The New Earth equivalent of coffee plants…a whole colony of primates, maybe." He was gratified to hear her laugh, the knot of their hands becoming softer, more natural as she leaned in.

"A thriving primate civilization," she murmured in return. She shifted and her knees settled more firmly against his leg, drawn up almost into his lap. "Do you remember the meadows to the south of the house, that deep red grain that almost came up to my waist?"

He remembered the way she'd looked in the middle of it, her long hair floating around her shoulders and her fingers wound through the bristling tassels. He chose a different response. "I remember how excited you were when I said I thought I could mill it."

"I'm an explorer, Chakotay. You can't blame me for seeking out new frontiers." Her hand had slipped out of his—she needed both, it seemed, to fill the space between them with the whirls of her thoughts. He missed her touch, but he loved the animation on her face almost as much. He had worried for a long time that New Earth would never be this for them: something beautiful that had bound them together, instead of just a misstep on the road home, a sudden spin of the wheel. His breath stuttered as her hand seized the crook of his elbow. "And the night of the meteor shower—you remember? Lying in the grass at the top of the hill, the sky so clear it felt like it was going to come down right on top of us." Kathryn shook her head. "I've seen some incredible things from the bridge of a starship, but I have never seen shooting stars like that."

She was so close now he thought he could pick out the reflections of the stars in her eyes, just as he had that night, turned toward her with the universe burning down above them. "You told me to make a wish," he reminded her, and then wondered if she could even hear him over the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Kathryn smiled, tipping her head to the side until she could rest her cheek against the slope of the couch. He tried not to regret that she hadn't chosen his shoulder instead. Her voice, when she spoke, was softer than he'd heard it in a long time.

"At the time, I wasn't in a place to tell you this, but…there was something very liberating about the months we spent there. Under different circumstances, that could have been a wonderful life."

Perhaps it was best that she hadn't chosen his shoulder, after all. He could hardly breathe under the weight of his own heart; he didn't know how he could have withstood hers. "I've always felt the same," he replied, though the words came a little too close to the ones he really wanted to say. His mouth fell open again with the weight of them, and for a moment he was seized by the gravity of this, the inertia of his racing pulse and her soft eyes and their bodies slowly entwining in the dark. For the first time in a long time he found himself considering the angles, calculating the distance to her in drawn breaths, wondering if she would let him lean in, just this once, and erase the oxygen between them. Then suddenly there was another voice in the room, and whatever he'd thought was inevitable vanished as she jerked away from him, the crackle of a commbadge robbing him of something precious for a second time.

"Kim to Commander Chakotay."

Already she had disappeared from his side, scooping up the cider flutes and crossing to the replicator. Chakotay tried to keep the aggravation out of his voice as he answered the hail.

"Chakotay here."

"Sorry to bother you, Commander, but there's been a dispute between several of the junior operations officers. Any chance you could come up and mediate?"

Part of Chakotay wanted to argue that he wasn't meant to be on duty for the next few days, that Tuvok or Kim himself, as a member of the senior staff, should be able to handle whatever was wrong. But the lights came up in the silence before his reply, and one look at Kathryn was enough to convince him how little point there was in pushing this off—she still wore a warm smile, bemused and a little sympathetic, but whatever momentum had existed between them before had vanished with the dark, a fleeting moment already becoming a fading memory. Chakotay closed his eyes to recapture the image of her silhouette against the brilliant window, the way his name sounded when it broke on her lips. Then he brushed it all aside and got to his feet, exchanging a weary look with his captain as he ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Understood. On my way."

He closed the connection and then stepped around the coffee table to stand in front of her, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Kathryn tipped her chin to one side.

"Duty calls."

Chakotay shook his head. "And here I thought I'd get out of a few of these this week. Isn't it your turn to take one of these late-night calls?" He kept his voice light, pretending with her that they hadn't lost anything in the moment the lights went up, and she rewarded him with a cheeky smile as she turned away to summon a cup of coffee from the replicator.

"They're not calling for me, Commander. They're calling for you."

"Who's lousy idea was it to route all gamma shift calls through me, anyway?" he asked, just because he wanted to hear her laugh one more time. Kathryn turned back to him and settled her hand in the center of his chest—a gesture he had wondered about over the years, the placement of her hand just there, like an acknowledgment that what fluttered under his skin belonged to her.

"As I recall, that suggestion came from my very thoughtful first officer," she replied, sliding her hand up to squeeze his shoulder. "Have fun with the kids."

He was almost to the door before an idea flickered through his mind, and he turned back just before the door sensor caught him, a last private moment before the night slipped away from them for good. "Kathryn, there's…something I'd like to show you. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?" he asked, trying to sound offhand, and if her coffee splashed a little as she pulled the cup away from her mouth, it was worth it for the smile that lit her pale blue eyes.

"Do I get any hints?"

Chakotay smiled, all too conscious of the heartbeat in his ears. "I'm building something."

Something soft and beautiful sparked in her eyes at the words, and he could have sworn he heard her breath catch. She remembered, too. He felt the pull of her again, but he forced himself to step back into the corridor instead—he couldn't stand the thought of Harry interrupting them again. "Holodeck 1. 1900?"

She nodded. "I'll be there."

"Well, then…" He braced his fingers against the doorjamb, stole one last look at her before he'd have to turn away. "Goodnight, Kathryn."

"Goodnight," she echoed, softly enough to recall, for an instant, the heat of her hand wrapped around his, the way her eyes looked in the dark. Then he stepped into the corridor and made for the cargo bay, hoping against experience that it wouldn't be another year before they found this moment again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
**

Kathryn Janeway braced her hands on the edge of the sink and stared down her reflection, trying to swallow against the heart in her throat. The woman in the bathroom mirror was out of uniform: she had settled, finally, on a long dress of sage green and no accessories, though she'd wasted twenty minutes fussing with the idea. She'd taken a real shower today, which meant her short hair floated softly around her ears, and she was at war with the strands that kept sneaking forward to feather against her cheek. If she couldn't get them under control, she knew Chakotay would reach out to tame them, tuck them delicately back where they belonged…the thought of his fingers caressing her cheek made her stomach jump, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the cool glass. She needed to get herself under control before she went to meet him on the Holodeck, and she was almost out of time.

Twice she had nearly changed back into her uniform, put those four gold pips back on her collar like anchors to weigh down the heart that hadn't stopped leaping in her chest since he'd turned away from her door with a promise of a date. Twice she had almost given in to the frantic voice in the back of her mind that still insisted this was wrong, begged her to build back the wall between the two of them. But in the end she left her uniform where it was, abandoned across the end of her bed, her heavy black boots traded for straw sandals. She looked into the mirror and saw the person she wanted to see, the person she wanted to meet him on the Holodeck. She just wished the process of getting ready had left her feeling confident and prepared instead of just this side of queasy.

She had always been practical in love. Even in seventh grade, when she had a crush on the boy two rows ahead of her with dimples and a fondness for quantum mechanics, she'd approached the whole thing with unwavering control: she inquired into his feelings, defined the relationship according to her terms, and a few months later, when they realized the science was all they had in common, she moved on without missing him. Looking back on her relationship with Mark, something she'd done on and off since receiving his letter, she could see now that one of his main virtues had been that, even after their engagement, things between them remained simple, uncomplicated, at least for a time.

There was nothing simple about the precipice at whose edge she had found herself now, searching for the courage to jump. What it was, what _he_ was, was irresistible, inevitable. Remembering the image of him in the nebula's light as she'd drifted off to sleep the night before, the deepest sleep she'd had in years, she understood finally that she and Somak had lost the battle for emotional distance a long time ago—maybe the first time she lay in his arms, or on the moonlit deck of a swaying sailboat, or stretched out side by side under a canopy of shooting stars. Or maybe she'd lost it the very first time he touched her shoulder and promised that she wasn't alone, the three words she'd most needed to hear.

In her Ready Room, in the shadow of Mark's letter, he'd told her they had plenty of time—but she didn't want it. She didn't want anything but him, his warmth against her cheek and the quiet draw of his embrace, pulling her under like the sea. The only thing she didn't know was where she was going to find the courage to tell him that.

Kathryn sighed and pulled herself away from the mirror, straightening her skirt with a determination she didn't feel. The best thing to do was not to get swept up in this—to approach her relationship with Chakotay head-on, eyes wide open, so that they could move past the emotional aspect and work out how to deal with this, from a command perspective. Much easier said than done, apparently. She glanced once more at her reflection and was astonished by the smile on her own face, a broad, bright smile she didn't remember seeing in the mirror since she was sixteen, sneaking out her bedroom window to watch a meteor shower rocket through the Pleiades. It wasn't a smile she'd ever worn for a person before. But then, it wasn't the first time Chakotay had broken the mold.

Kathryn shook herself and schooled her features into a more neutral expression, tossing her head once before she scooped up the bottle of red wine from the table and stepped out into the corridor. If that smile was just for Chakotay, then she had no business wearing it through the halls of her ship. _Voyager_ was enough of a rumor mill as it was.

Though it was still early evening, the ship seemed deserted; Kathryn wondered if her faithful tactical officer was keeping the junior recruits busy through beta shift, too. She made it all the way to the turbolift without crossing paths with anyone, but when the lift doors slid open, she found herself face to face with Tuvok himself, the Vulcan looking almost as surprised as she was by the chance encounter. Perhaps it was her appearance that prompted that stoic eyebrow to rise toward his hairline, though his voice when he greeted her was bland as usual.

"Captain."

Kathryn kept her shoulders back as she stepped into the lift, trying to give the impression she wasn't at all self-conscious to be caught out of uniform. She could just imagine Tuvok ticking back the days in his head, calculating the last time he'd seen her in civilian dress. She spoke before he could.

"Tuvok. How are things going on my bridge? Deck 6," she added, feeling the lift begin to move under her feet.

They had been friends long enough for her to recognize consternation even on a Vulcan. "Ensigns Parsons and Kurosawa are showing improved performance. However, I suspect another training period of this nature may be required before any of the junior officers are truly qualified for bridge duty."

Kathryn couldn't help a little smile. "Don't let that idea run away with you. I am going to want my ship back at some point. Where are you headed now?" she added, nodding toward the pulsing red motion lights. Tuvok shifted—a little short on patience, perhaps.

"I have been summoned to Astrometrics. Apparently, Seven of Nine has a theory concerning the specifics of this nebula with regard to stellar formation. From what I understand, there is a possibility that the young protostars will be pulled into a subspace trench of some immensity very shortly after forming."

"Fascinating," Kathryn replied.

This time, she didn't think the raised eyebrow was meant for her, even if the joke was somewhat at his expense. "Perhaps it would be, at another time. At the moment, I believe there are more pressing matters."

She couldn't tell if he only meant himself, or if he was talking about her too, in a roundabout manner—maybe he had detected that her attention was on her feet, and then the lift beneath them as it slowed at her deck. She had to admit that all thoughts of protostars and subspace anomalies flew out of her head as the doors hissed open, the entrance to the Holodeck just in sight down the empty corridor. She stepped out a little more hesitantly than she'd stepped in, fiddling with the cork in the wine bottle—but before she'd gone more than a few strides, his voice called her back.

"Captain." She glanced over her shoulder, blue eyes meeting impassive brown. Tuvok clasped his hands behind his back. "May I say, you seem to be…well rested. It is a pleasure to see you in high spirits."

Kathryn wondered what he was really trying to tell her, in his ambiguous way. Perhaps it was just rejuvenation he was seeing, the aftereffect of a very good night's sleep. Or maybe Tuvok was perceptive enough to tell just by looking at her how much lighter she felt after surrendering Somak and all ideas of emotional distance to her bottom desk drawer. She knew better than to ask—she had long since learned that Vulcans enjoyed being mercurial, and that it was best to take the sentiment at face value. She offered him a smile.

"Thank you, old friend."

Tuvok tipped his head. "Give the commander my regards." Then the doors slipped shut, leaving her to wonder just what kind of a blessing he intended that to be. She didn't wonder long, though—it was already four minutes past the hour, and she'd never meant to keep Chakotay waiting. Clutching the bottle like it was her heart she held in her hands, she started down the corridor, her footfalls and her pulse equally loud in her ears.

The moment she stepped through the doors, she forgot her uncertainty. She was lucky she didn't drop the bottle. The scene before her was so familiar that it ignited a whole new ache in her chest: a grassy slope sprawled out before her feet, rolling effortlessly down to the edge of a lake ringed with weeping willows whose leaves burned red in the last of a Midwestern summer sunset, the sky and everything around her beginning the long, slow descent into twilight. The lake shimmered with the memory of opaque reds and golds, the fiery reflection interrupted by little ripples as a soft breeze brushed the willow boughs against the surface of the water. Kathryn gripped the neck of the bottle like a lifeline, willing herself to start breathing. For an instant, as the copper disc of the sun threw a last wash of scarlet over the trees and then ducked below the horizon, everything going still for just a moment as it disappeared, she almost believed she was standing above the old frog pond, less than a mile from home across the living fields, where she and her sister had swam and played tag in the reeds and once unwisely ridden an old tandem bicycle into the shallows—but gradually she realized that this was a different place, a much bigger lake, the ripples on the water fading out smaller and smaller until she lost sight of them through the arms of the willows. Kathryn pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the throb of her heart against her fingers as she struggled to speak.

"Chakotay?" Her voice broke over his name, barely more than a whisper; she cleared her throat and tried again. "Chakotay!"

"Down here!"

The call came from the edge of the water. Though she couldn't see him, Kathryn made her way down the low hill and then through the forest of dusky willow boughs, feeling the soft leaves brush her face in passing. At last she found the shore, and him with it, coming toward her through the gathering shadows. She had to catch her breath again as he stepped into the fading light. In his loose white shirt and dark vest, he looked as if he could have just walked out of the woods around their small shelter on New Earth, some new anecdote or discovery on his lips. This time all he offered her was a smile. Kathryn hadn't known it was possible to miss two different homes so much at the same moment, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to move, the twining roots of the heavy trees creaking under her feet. He reached out for the bottle and she let him take it, still not sure of her hands.

"Sorry. I meant to be there to meet you. I was just putting a few last touches on things."

His voice was so calm, so sure on the evening breeze; it reminded her of the way he'd talked on New Earth, a little softer, a little more slowly, like something that was usually wound tight in him had finally found the space to breathe. She snuck a glance at him as she gestured toward the lake.

"It's beautiful, Chakotay. When you said you were building something, I didn't realize you meant a program."

His smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Well, I did the program, too. But that actually wasn't what I was referring to. It's right this way." His hand settled on her elbow, and she didn't protest as he led her along the shore, sweeping the boughs out of her way like he was pulling back a curtain. She couldn't imagine anything better than this, walking arm in arm with him through the stillness of a summer evening, the edge of the lake shining with their silhouettes—but that was before she ducked a last low branch and finally realized where he'd been leading her. A short, rickety dock stretched a few meters out over the glassy water with broad willows swaying to either side, the warped boards carpeted in worn leaves, and at its end bobbed a small boat, a picnic basket and an old-fashioned lantern waiting in the bow. Kathryn froze at the edge of the dock, one hand rising to cover her mouth.

She recognized the craft at once. Even the first time she'd seen it, a blue-and-white rendering on a tiny screen, she'd thought it a strange design, only one oar drifting from the stern like a rudder instead of the traditional two. Incarnate, she understood it a little better: the beauty of the streamlined shape, a body that was built to flow with the current, wherever it led. She wasn't sure it would sail as well on the lake as it would have the river. But that wasn't the thought in her mind as she turned back to face him.

"Is that…" She wasn't sure, for a second, what to call it. "…my boat?" she finished, and Chakotay smiled, a soft, slow smile that made her heart lurch against her ribs.

"I still had the plans tucked away. I'm sorry it couldn't be handmade, but after our talk the other night, I thought…Kathryn?"

She heard the wariness enter in his voice, the sudden concern brought on by the wetness in her too-bright eyes—but she had just noticed what was carved into the starboard side, and she lurched down the dock to kneel next to the boat and press her hand against the rough-hewn letters, closing her eyes as the new cuts left imprints on her skin. By the time she opened them again he was at her side, looking down at her with a small furrow between his brows.

"I'm sorry," Chakotay said again, glancing at the name half obscured by her hand. "I always meant to call her that. Is it…too much?"

For a moment, the only sound between them was the trill of night birds warming up in faraway trees, their distant song a counterpoint to the steady slosh of the boat tugging at its moors. Kathryn drew her thumb down one line of the jagged _V_ and up the other, tracing in turn the boxy _O_ , the uneven _Y_ , the _A_ that lilted to one side like he'd tipped his hand during the carving, listening to something out across the lake. The last three letters he'd rushed through, she could tell—eager to come find her. The picture made her smile. She tried to imagine what she would have thought of the name if he'd presented this gift to her the way he'd meant to, just the two of them on a planet lost in the wilds; she looked up at this man, her best friend, her closest companion, who built his love into boats and bathtubs and then held them out to her one at a time, waiting to see if she would ever reach past the gift and take his hand instead.

He probably didn't understand what she meant by it when she got back to her feet and twined her fingers through his, but he didn't pull away. She wondered if the low light hid her blush.

"It's perfect," Kathryn told him, blinking fast to keep her tears back. "But it probably would have made me cry then, too."

Chakotay returned her smile, a little regretfully, as she wiped her eyes. Two ships by this name had belonged to her, and in regaining the first of them she'd lost the second, transformed in an instant from a daydream to a missed opportunity—but he had given that back to her, as he'd been giving her so many things: the faith in him to try this, the confidence to squeeze his hand. She stepped forward and laid her open palm against the curved prow, a teasing smile overtaking her lips.

"Come on, Chakotay. Let's take her out for a spin. You're still on the hook for that camping trip."

She clambered over the side still clutching his hand, laughing as she overbalanced and nearly took them both into the water. Chakotay was laughing, too, and the sound made her ears ring in the best way. Then he jumped in after her and threw off the dock line, and as the shadows of twilight settled over the shore they made for the center of the lake, _Voyager_ 's wake cutting a cordon of ripples through the ghost of red light still haunting the surface of the water.

Kathryn had never had a meal in a rowboat before. By the end of it, she thought she could see why—the craft were outdated, certainly, in short supply where she'd grown up, but more pressing were the inherent hazards of trying to eat anything in such a wobbly contraption. Chakotay insisted the boat would have been more stable on the river it was designed for, but Kathryn doubted that would have prevented the accident that cost him his vest, when the oar struck a rock on the bottom of the lake and his wine splashed out of his unsuspecting hand. She liked the way he looked without the vest, anyway. Kathryn lost a handful of grapes over the side when she banged her elbow into one of the ship's ribs, and indirectly she supposed she was also responsible for the demise of the last few pieces of bread, which went overboard as she and Chakotay were trying to switch places so she could man the rudder for a while. They both got splashed and she couldn't steer worth a damn, but it was worth it for the way he laughed when she called up some holographic fish to take care of the bread, the scorch of his hand on her bare arm as he eased her back into the bow.

It was so easy, just being with him like this, falling into their natural rhythm, that she almost forgot what she'd come here to do. All at once she realized how quiet the night had grown, the glittering chasm of the Milky Way stretched across the black sky over their heads, the whisper of the water against the boat the only sound anymore except for the two of them, just breathing in the dark. Kathryn didn't think the hush could have been deeper if they were the last two hearts in the world, her eyes still locked with his across the deck of a ship called _Voyager_ , daring herself to say something before the moment slipped away.

For a long time she just looked at him, leaning back in the stern with one hand on the rudder, the turn of his wrist lazily propelling them forward. He looked so content just to be there with her; holding his soft gaze, she understood suddenly that he had long ago resigned himself to this, loving her in everything but name, offering whatever she would let him give. If he had asked, if he had given her one push right now the words would have come tumbling out of her, a torrent she couldn't control…but he never would. He was respecting the wall she'd put up between them even as she was scrabbling at the stones, desperate to get it down. This was one mountain she was going to have to move on her own.

Insecurity prickled in her stomach, ill at ease amid soft French bread and salty olives and sundried tomatoes. She took a deep breath and stared out across the dark water, searching for strength in the shadow-black willows at the edge of the lake, the song of the wind moving through their fluted leaves. If she looked toward the shore instead of out across the water, she could almost pretend they were back on Earth, that she'd brought Chakotay to her mother's house to meet her family and see the places she'd outgrown. The thought made her a little dizzy.

"Kathryn? What is it?"

She wondered what he'd seen on her face. When she turned back, she offered him a half smile to go with a half truth. "I'm sorry. It just looks…so much like home." Her voice caught on the last word, but she cleared her throat, hurried past it. "This wouldn't be Indiana, by any chance?"

Chakotay gave a low chuckle. "Ohio, actually. I spent a long break there while I was in the Academy, visiting a few distant cousins." He seemed to be studying her, but in the unsteady light of the lantern she couldn't read his expression. "I thought about trying to recreate the river," he confessed at last, "extrapolating from the geographical data of New Earth, but…it didn't seem right."

Kathryn nodded, her chest tight. That was something they had lost; they couldn't patch the wound by pretending there wasn't one. She ran her hand along the curve of the starboard edge and then dipped down to brush the cold water with her fingertips, igniting silver ripples across the surface. She wondered what had happened to the fish.

"I always went home for my breaks," she told him, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "My father was usually away, but I liked to see my mother and Phoebe…she and Mom were always into it over one thing or another, especially when Phoebe declared she was majoring in art. _Of all the impractical dreamers in this family, Phoebe Janeway…_ " She did her best to mimic the staccato quality of her mother's voice whenever she launched into a lecture, and from the way Chakotay laughed she decided that at least she must not have sounded much like herself. Sitting there with him under the stars, the gentle ebb of the water rocking them like a lullaby, she felt like being a bit of an impractical dreamer herself; she leaned forward over her knees and settled her hand against the back of his, mapping the roughness of his skin with her fingertips. "And to think…all that time, you were just a short distance away."

The words came out a little breathless, squeezed past the heart in her throat. Chakotay flipped his hand over so he could trace the arc of her thumb with his, smiling as he shook his head.

"Your timeline's a little off," he said lightly. "I'm a few years older than you. While I was in Ohio, you were probably still in school, elbowing your way toward valedictorian." He looked at her for a long moment before he lifted his hand from the oar and put it against her cheek, chasing a few strands of red hair back behind her ear, as she'd known he would. His touch felt like a live wire on her skin. "I would love to have seen you then," he murmured, and the fondness in his eyes made her heartbeat stutter. "I bet you were already putting your hands on your hips whenever you wanted something."

"That I learned from my mother," she replied. She felt giddy, lightheaded from the charge between them, the palpable tension that hit her tongue like a spark every time she took a breath. "Strange to think we might almost have crossed paths, all those years ago."

Chakotay tugged at his earlobe. "I'm probably lucky we didn't." Kathryn blinked as his hand fell back to his knee and he offered a self-deprecating smile, one eyebrow crooked above his sparkling eyes. "An awkward, grim-faced cadet who was shy about his gangly legs and his bad haircut…I don't think you would have been very impressed with me."

Kathryn shook her head. "I don't know about that. I seem to remember young Kathryn Janeway being very taken with the Academy boys—the few she met, anyway."

Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the possibility of another story, a reality where her sixteen-year-old self was stealing out the window to meet a boy in cadet gray with jet-black hair and gentle eyes, a boy who would kiss her for the first time under the cascade of falling stars and with that one action erase an entire future of soft looks and silent longing, of the pain she sometimes caught in his eyes the second before she turned away.

The many worlds theory was an old one in quantum mechanics, barely referenced anymore except in history classes, but for a moment she let herself imagine that some other Kathryn and Chakotay had met this way, under the broken stars, still early enough in their stories to spare each other a little heartache—and other ways, too, all the ways they might have found each other in an infinite and unfolding universe. A Chakotay who was an honor recruit, one of the cadets her father personally took under his wing and brought home for Thanksgiving every year, just to wow them, he always said, with his home and his beautiful daughters; a Kathryn who graduated from the Academy a few years early and was posted to the _Merrimack_ instead of the _Al-Batani_ , a junior science officer a little infatuated with the lieutenant at the helm. Sometimes she'd glanced over his service record and been astonished at all the similar postings they'd had, though never at the same time—wondered if by chance he'd ever held the door open for her at some building on campus while she rushed to a meeting, if they'd passed each other in the corridor of Deep Space 7 on their way to different assignments. All the places their paths might have crossed, and yet they hadn't, not until they found themselves out here at the edge of the galaxy, where she needed him the most.

As a matter of scientific principle Kathryn didn't believe in fate, but it was enough to make her wonder if there was some order to the cosmic dance after all, something beyond her understanding that guided their footsteps until they were ready to take their place on the floor. Some voice in the back of her mind that had whispered, in the lonely moments when she lay under a meteor shower wishing she had someone to watch it with her, that someday she would, and it would be worth the wait.

Kathryn took a shaky breath, her fingers trembling in his hold. "You would have swept her off her feet," she murmured.

His chuckle was as soft as the wind brushing her face. "I'm hoping it's not too late."

This was the moment. She could feel it in the air, thrumming through her from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers. Though he was just a silhouette against the simulated stars, she could sense him leaning in, ready to let the gravity between them win out. Kathryn licked her lips and gazed into his eyes, those soft, beautiful eyes that had never wavered from her.

"Chakotay, I…"

She faltered over the important word. Chakotay waited, just watching her. She knew without asking that he would wait forever to hear that word from her. A breeze ruffled the surface of the lake, chasing the boughs of the willows, and Kathryn turned her head, watched them sway with her heart pounding in her ears—then she gasped, her hand clenching around his, because the leaves of the willows were suddenly alive with golden lights, wave after wave of fireflies rising on the wind, twining through the branches of the trees like tiny candles. She hadn't seen so much as a flicker before, but all at once they were everywhere, ringing the entire shore, the fickle light of their waltz weaving unsteady pictures in the water. Kathryn watched them for a long minute in silence before turning back to look at him, wondering if those were fireflies or stars shining in his dark eyes. Chakotay breathed out softly, offered her a smile that was just a little resigned.

"Come on. Let's get a closer look."

It wasn't until he pushed the boat up to the edge of the shore and jumped out, his feet splashing in the water before he reached up and helped her down onto dry land, that she realized what it was, the shadow on his face—he was preparing to let her go again, to step back, even though they'd come so close, right up to the precipice. She thought she finally understood what he'd been living with for more than a year, ever since the last look they'd shared on New Earth: the constant push and pull of uneasy distance between them, like an infernal tide. She couldn't stand one more second of it.

Chakotay was leading her up into the trees, but he stopped when she pulled back on his hand, still tangled with hers. Kathryn stood her ground as he turned to her, puzzled, the long, cool branches of the willow tree drifting around them thick with fireflies.

"I didn't expect you to wait for me." Chakotay took a step back toward her, just enough to relax the arc of their joined hands, to let her know he didn't understand. Kathryn pressed her lips together. "I know it was a long time ago."

"What was, Kathryn?" he asked. The gentleness of his voice made her shiver, fumble for the words as a flush crept into her cheeks.

"When you…fell in love with me."

Chakotay smiled, shook his head without breaking his gaze. "I fall in love with you every day."

It took her a moment to realize he'd never said it before. She'd felt it every time she turned back to look into his eyes, every time she reached out to him for strength or solidarity, but this was the first time she'd heard his voice carved around the words. Something tightened in her chest, pressing out against her ribs like light or heat, like a supernova under her skin. She wondered if he could feel her fingers tingling in his, the elation that spread through her like white flame just to have those feelings out in the open, where she couldn't deny them anymore. Her feet weren't steady under her, but she chanced them anyway, closed the distance between them by another step.

"I'm sorry for wasting so much time."

They were close enough now that she could feel his breath on her face, the rhythm of his faithful heart beating in her fingertips. "It wasn't wasted," he said.

They were so close now his eyes were completely black, too little space between them for even the reflection of fireflies, and yet somehow she still couldn't figure out how to close the distance. She lifted her free hand and traced a shaky path along his jaw, the waving shadows of willow leaves blending his skin and hers.

It was clear to her suddenly that she'd spent all this time worried about the wrong things. The crew, the ship, the integrity of her command—those things they would work out as a team, as they'd always done. This was the part that should have terrified her.

"Kathryn—" he started, but she hushed him, the tips of her fingers just resting against his lips.

"Don't say anything yet. I'm afraid I might lose my nerve."

Chakotay almost smiled. "That's hard to believe."

She shook her head, her voice low and breathless under the sighing boughs. "Trust me, it wouldn't be the first time."

"Need a little help?" he asked. His free hand rose to cup her cheek, tracing the arc of her cheekbone with his thumb as he had done so many times before, the first night they lay next to each other in the dark, and on the rocking deck of an old sailboat, the first time she'd closed her eyes and almost expected a kiss. He leaned in close enough for her to feel his nose graze hers in passing, and her lips parted automatically around a sharp breath, her eyes already closing—but he stopped them right there, on the brink, and just watched her, because the last move had always been hers.

Kathryn closed her eyes. Then she pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, their bodies rocking together as the wind swirled through the trees.

It was barely a kiss, just the briefest brush of skin on skin. Something so gentle shouldn't hit her this hard, like it was her first kiss all over again, like she was sixteen and shaking and the only thing keeping her standing was his hand in hers, the heat of his body flashing through her like a wildfire. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that all of the fireflies had taken flight at once—she could feel them tingling in the air around her, making her dizzy and lightheaded, so light she had to fist her hand into his shirt for fear she was about to leave the ground. She had sworn she wouldn't get carried away by this, but she realized now how empty that vow had been. This was where she'd always belonged, falling into him.

She didn't realize she was actually falling until his hand jerked out of hers and caught her around the waist, pulling her into him to steady her wobbly knees. Chakotay leaned back just far enough to stare into her wide eyes.

"Kathryn? Are you all right?"

She didn't know how to answer that, couldn't even find the power to speak through the rush of blood in her ears and her cheeks and her frantically beating heart, begging her to kiss him one more time with everything she had. For once, it was the last voice she listened to—she gave in to magnetics, hooked her elbow around his neck and pulled him down, their lips crashing together like stars collapsing into an inferno of white heat. She felt him stagger a little trying to keep his balance, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, but she didn't care if they toppled backward into the water, if he crushed her body under his and she drowned in him. She was already gasping, trying to catch her breath in his mouth as he curled his fingers into her hair. She was already lost in him, and she had never felt more ecstatic to be giving in. She finally understood what Chakotay had tried to tell her so long ago, with his hand locked in hers. This was peace. This was home. She couldn't remember why she'd fought it for so long.

That was when it started to rain.

It took her a moment to understand what was happening. She was so wrapped up in the feel of him against her that at first she thought the chill racing down her arms was just the sensation of his hand sliding up her back, every nerve in turn sparking at his touch—but at last she realized she was soaking wet, and so was he, and she pulled back to blink up at the shuddering trees, the willow boughs and fireflies flickering madly as in a heavy wind. Chakotay still had an arm around her waist as he craned his head toward the ceiling, just as astonished as she was. Kathryn gaped at him through the downpour.

"Did you program it to do this?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the rain. "A little plasma storm for authenticity?" Chakotay shook his head. Kathryn leaned back out of his arms, shouting, "Computer, end program" toward the dark sky—and then, when nothing happened. "Computer, exit!"

The image of the lake fizzled out between two thick willows, and they ran for the doors with their heads down, Chakotay's arm slung over her back as if he could protect her from the storm. But apparently revealing the way out was all the computer could do; no matter what they tried, the doors wouldn't open, and at last Kathryn slumped back against the trunk of the closest willow tree, mopping her hair out of her face.

"What is going on?" she demanded. Chakotay peered up at the ceiling where the photonic grid fuzzed in and out of view, his white shirt sticking to his skin.

"It must be another malfunction. I don't think this rain is holographic at all—I think it's the fire suppression system."

Kathryn slapped a hand over her commbadge, a little harder than was strictly necessary. "Janeway to Engineering. What the hell are you doing to my ship?"

She could practically feel B'Elanna seething even over the comm. "That depends, Captain. Where are you?"

"Holodeck 1," Kathryn ground out, and then gasped as the tree behind her became less than substantial, nearly dumping her onto the muddy slope. Chakotay got his arms around her just in time. She closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest instead, listening with half an ear to the indistinct sounds of B'Elanna cursing her junior engineers, a very irate _Well, what are you going to do about it?_ crackling over the line with particular force. It was hard to stay angry with the warmth of Chakotay's shoulder burning against her cheek, the novelty of letting him hold her still intoxicating enough to make her smile even through the rain; luckily, B'Elanna sounded angry enough for both of them.

"I'm sorry, Captain." Her chief engineer's voice was decidedly frazzled. "The fire suppression system shorted out due to a power surge on your deck, and that same surge completely fried the Holodeck controls. We'll have you out of there as soon as we can." The comm went dead with a loud crackle as the last of the holographic setting disappeared, leaving them to the silver grid of the Holodeck walls and the endless rain. Kathryn couldn't stop her frustrated exhale as she turned in Chakotay's arms, just enough to look up at him.

"The next time Tuvok gets ideas about replacing us with the junior staff, remind me to shoot him down."

Chakotay shook his head, his expression somewhere between amused and contrite. "Kathryn, I'm s—" he started, but she broke in before he could finish.

"This is exactly how I remember camping!" she announced, throwing out her arms to encompass the storm.

Chakotay looked stunned. Then he started to laugh, and she laughed with him, the sound bubbling up in her until she felt like she would burst with it. Chakotay lifted one hand and raked her bangs back out of her face, tucking every strand carefully behind her ear before his palm finally settled against her cheek, burning like a star; Kathryn looked up at him, soaked to the bone and still smiling at her like she was worth the hurricane, and finally felt three fragile little words on the tip of her tongue, her eyes flickering closed as he pulled her in.

"I love you, Chakotay."

She barely got the words out before his mouth was on hers, but even if he hadn't heard it, somehow she had a sense that he'd gotten the message. Or if not, she could always tell him again. And again, and again, and again.

* * *

_Everything was wrong on Deck 6. Everything was wrong everywhere. Tal Celes panted as she jogged through the corridors near Holodeck 1, her engineering kit flapping against her thigh. Billy Telfer was an idiot, and she didn't know what she'd been thinking, taking his suggestion to do her extra-department training with the emergency repair crews._

_Celes had been one of the few crewmembers in her division actually excited about switching out of Astrometrics for a few days. She was so bad at analyzing sensor data that she'd mistakenly assumed she'd be better suited to anything else—but no, that was Billy talking again, always trying to convince her there was something on Voyager she could do without making a complete mess of it, when in truth she was so ill-suited to work on a starship she was surprised the captain hadn't put her off on the nearest M-class planet already and told her to walk home._

_It turned out repair work was equally beyond her. Lieutenant Torres had sent her to Deck 6 to get the Holodeck computer core under control, but she was so nervous she'd dropped her thermal regulator straight down the Jefferies tube shaft and nearly killed Crewman Dalby, working three levels below her to get artificial gravity back in the cargo bays. By the time she retrieved it and returned to the access port, Lieutenant Torres had found a way to fix everything by rerouting the Holodecks through helm control, and she'd ordered Celes back to Engineering on the double for a new assignment. Celes cringed as she passed the door to the Holodeck and noticed two sets of wet footprints headed for the turbolift. If the fury in the chief engineer's voice was any indication, her "new assignment" was probably going to be toweling off the whole Holodeck on her hands and knees…_

_As she rounded the final corner, she stopped dead, frozen by the sight of two people already waiting for the lift. Voyager's commanding officers were outrageously wet—the captain's hair was plastered against her neck, and Celes realized with a start that she could see right through the commander's shirt, which made her cheeks feel a little hot. But not nearly the way they burned as she watched Commander Chakotay lift one hand and brush a straggle of red hair away from the captain's temple, her upturned face glowing with a secretive smile. Celes ducked back around the corner and flattened herself against the wall, one hand pressed to her racing heart. She didn't move until she was certain she'd heard the turbolift door hiss open and closed again, whisking them away. Only when she was sure there was no chance of being discovered did she allow herself to relax, giving in to a little smile of her own as she looked down at their wet footprints. She liked the idea of the captain wearing that expression more often—it made her seem much less intimidating._

_As she resumed her trek toward the turbolift, she wondered if they'd finally figured out what everyone else on the ship already knew: that Voyager was alone out here, but they didn't have to be, and even in the Delta Quadrant love got its own way sooner or later._


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Chakotay wasn't sure at first what had woken him. The sleep he'd been drawn from was a deep one, perhaps the deepest of his life, and he struggled against his body's insistence to rise, very content for the moment to remain where he was. When he finally surrendered to the urge to open his eyes, he realized at once what had breached his unconscious—it was a change of the light, a cacophony of color writhing through the viewport above him. Still he didn't move for a long moment, reluctant to disturb the figure curled up next to him with her head on his chest, the faint music of her breathing the only sound in the room. Chakotay allowed himself a slow smile, committing to memory the way she looked like this, the softness the nebula's brilliant light brought to her face. Then he bent forward and pressed his lips against her the shell of her ear, whispered her name like a prayer into the dark.

"Kathryn."

He couldn't fathom how many times he'd imagined this, speaking her name in the small hours after midnight and not being the only one who heard it. He had to say it twice before she shifted against him.

"Chakotay?" Chakotay ran a hand through her hair as Kathryn twisted to look at him, her baleful blue eyes barely open. "It doesn't feel like 0700…"

He couldn't help chuckling at that, couldn't quite bring himself to believe, for all her abilities, that she could _feel_ something as artificial as time on a starship. His hand left her hair and slid softly down her back as he nodded toward the starport.

"I didn't think you'd want to miss this."

Kathryn looked up. He felt her tense, the sharp intake of breath against his ribs—then she rolled out of his arms to sit on the edge of the bed, and he rose to sit next to her, the two of them staring out the window shoulder to shoulder. They watched the soft glimmer of the forming stars growing brighter and brighter until one by one they ignited, dazzling pulses of white light flashing like distant beacons, and everywhere they blazed brilliant tendrils of red snaked out into the cerulean nebula like veins through a heart until the entire sea of dust seethed with scarlet flame, breathtaking against the void. For a moment there was a chasm of white light almost too bright to look at through the center of the cloud, millennia of protostars gleaming out at them from subspace like diamonds or dragon's teeth—then the instability folded, and the new protostars sank into the rupture, vanishing in the space of a breath. Chakotay found he had lost his, captivated by the crimson hues that had conquered the universe outside the window. He felt her hand clench around his arm.

"Chakotay."

It took him a second to understand what she was looking at. Two of the protostars had escaped the rupture, and as he watched they began to glow brighter and brighter against the crimson whorls, limbs of bright white fire arcing between them like outstretched hands. In only a few minutes, they had surrendered completely, crumpled into each other to become one body, one brilliant star sending out a pulse of red light that made the whole nebula shudder and burn. Kathryn let out the breath she'd been holding and slumped against his shoulder.

"A millennium," she murmured, almost to herself, and when she looked up at him her blue eyes shone with something he did not understand. "They spent a millennium spinning next to each other before gravity pulled them in. I can't make sense of…what kept them apart so long."

Chakotay wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him. But he had always had a great faith in stories, other people's and his own, and he did his best to honor the story he thought she was telling, leaning in to press a kiss to her shoulder.

"They weren't ready," he told her, and felt her shiver as he breathed the story into her skin. "The sky wasn't ready for them. But when it was time, they found each other." _Stars always do_ , he almost said, but then checked himself, not certain what he meant.

Kathryn watched him in silence for a long moment, her eyes bright with an ache he knew all too well. But she didn't need to feel that anymore, and neither did he—she let herself fall back onto the bed and pulled him down with her, erasing the last divide between them as their bodies collided in the tangle of the sheets.

"Find me," she whispered against his mouth. Then she kissed him, and he forgot the rest of it, the glow of the newborn stars and the riot of the red sky beyond the window, the colors of the unbridled universe coalescing into a beautiful, dusky blue. She was here beside him, beneath him, beating in him like a heart. Everything else was dust.


End file.
